Chapter Text
Zuko tugged at the collar, trying to loosen the stiff fabric’s bite against his neck. After a few moments he gave up his futile attempt at finding comfort and let his hand drift back down to his lap. Stillness seemed to envelope the room in a manner more suffocating than his collar and his hand twitched to retrieve the pocket watch from his waistcoat, desperate from some kind of distraction.
He clicked it open and examined the mother-of-pearl face. The watch had been a gift from his Uncle Iroh, acquired during one of his years-long trading expeditions that took him to the far flung reaches of the known world. There he sought out rare spices and teas that could further solidify Ozai Trading Co. as the most dominant trading company of exotic and foreign goods in the Four Nations.
Zuko gently rubbed his thumb over the smooth face and examined the artfully crafted numbers set around the edge. He could feel the delicate hands ticking on, it felt like a tiny heartbeat in his hand. He sighed and snapped it shut. They should almost be here by now. He got up from the overstuffed chair he had been sitting in and stalked to the window, silently cursing that the salon didn’t face the front entrance. Only the rolling hills of the estate stretched before him when he gazed out.
Through the weight of anxiety, fear, and hurt that lay heavy against him there was a twist of curiosity running through his core. They had never received guests from the Water Tribe before at the estate, and the only reference Zuko had was a half-century old encyclopedia which offered dream-like illustrations of intricately decorated blue clothing contrasted against the molten bronze skin that shone like starlight.
The night after Father had broken the news, Zuko snuck into the library to retrieve the heavy leather bound book, the only one in their vast library that made mention of the Water Tribe. He’d poured over every word back in his room by candle light, desperately trying to sketch some vague outline of what his future would look like.
Azula nearly died of laughter at the announcement. Zuko winced at the scene, forever crystalized in his memory. They had all been seated at the formal dining table in stony silence, the norm for family dinners ever since his Mother had passed. Without looking up from his plate, Father announced Zuko would marry the son of a Water Tribe leader, thus solidifying Ozai Trading Co.’s operation in the South Pole.
Zuko remembered the stunned silence that hung between him and his sister, only to be punctured by Azula’s hysterical shrieks of laughter as the food in his mouth slowly turned to ash.
“But Father,” he finally choked out. “I’m your son, your oldest child, the house, the company...I’ve been studying for years in preparation of taking over as Lord of the estate.” He worked hard to keep his tone steady, even as panic clawed its way up his spine.
“Yes,” his Father replied lazily. “Years of study and your business acumen doesn’t even begin to approach Azula’s intuition. She’s a natural.”
The words seared into Zuko like a slap, because he knew they were true. It all came so easily to Azula, the business management, the trading, the networking and building relationships, Zuko had to study ten times as hard just to be half as good.
It was certainly uncommon, but it was far from unheard of, to have a son of a wealthy family marry out to solidify a business transaction or political move. But it still felt like a cruel betrayal to Zuko. He had done everything his Father had asked and yet, ever since the incident, his Father could hardly stand to look at him. Overnight he’d become a ghost in his own home. Shutout and unwelcomed.
He’d foolishly thought that if he studied hard and showed Father his potential and dedication that someday he’d be welcomed back. Father would learn to look beyond his disfigurement, a scarlet letter branding his missteps, and see the loyal son that was beneath.
But his cold clipped words that evening had sent Zuko’s fantasy, which he now realized was far-fetched as best, crashing down. The sight of him was so grotesque that his Father would rather send his only son to the otherside of the world than be forced to look upon him for one more day.
Zuko wasn’t sure how much time elapsed when he finally got a hold of himself long enough to whisper the only question that seemed to matter at this point. “When?”
Ozai neatly wiped his mouth and set his napkin back down on the table, before snapping at the servant behind him to clear his plate. “Next week’s end, they’ve already set sail.”
And with that, the subject was closed. Zuko saw the entire future he had planned for himself, the only one he had even known slowly disintegrate, like sand scattered to the wind. His home, his family, his expectation of becoming Lord of the estate, everything, gone.
Zuko shook himself from the reverie. The next two weeks had passed in a blur. It was amazing that his entire existence could be neatly shoved into two trunks. He wondered idly if he would even have occasion to wear the few Fire Nation clothes the servants had insisted he pack. From what he had gathered from the encyclopedia the climate was vastly different. A waistcoat hardly seemed appropriate.
He desperately wished Uncle Iroh was here. He wouldn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. He wasn’t due back from his current Earth Kingdom expedition for at least another two months. Zuko had sent a letter the day following Father’s pronouncement, but he doubted Iroh would have the opportunity to read it, let alone respond, before his departure.
Zuko closed his eyes and tried to conjure his Uncle’s soothing voice to mind. “ Zuko, you must be open to the beauty of new possibilities. Like the moon lily that only blooms once, the fragility of an experience must be treasured. ” Zuko sighed, even as a figment of his imagination his Uncle’s advice remained opaque.
Without his permission, his mind conjured another voice. The slow sly whisper of his sister. The first few days following the news she had kept her distance, but Zuko knew that like a vulture drawn to a rotting corpse, she would eventually descend with the sole goal of exacerbating his pain.
“They’re savages you know,” her bored voice came from the shadows of his room just as he was climbing into bed one night. He would have jumped, but years of Azula sneaking up on him had rendered him immune.
“Is that so?” he replied, voice tired. He knew better to read into Azula’s words. “And how did you come by this information, we have never had formal contact with the Water Tribe.”
“Oh Zuzu, so naive, as usual,” she cooed with mock sweetness. “We may not have formal diplomatic relations with them, but we’re far from the first merchant family to seek out the riches of the south. Ugh, and you know how those stuffy old Lords love to brag about their young exploring expedition at every dinner...or well, you would, if Father ever had you attend.”
Zuko rolled his eyes and made to get into bed. “Goodnight Azula.”
“But Zuzu, don’t you want to know what I’ve heard? What they do down there?”
No . Zuko thought. But, the denial caught on his lips. He was desperate to know anything at this point, there was so little information available to him on the Water Tribe. And while he knew Azula always lied, like a man dying of thirst in the desert, he was desperate for any drop of information.
“It’s simply prehistoric ,” Azula continued in a hushed tone. “They live in huts made out of ice and wear dead animal carcasses for warmth. Lord Tsung told me they make blood sacrifices under the full moon, all jumping around and shrieking in the nude. What do you think, Zuzu? I’m sure a little virgin like you would be perfect for that kind of ceremony. You better hope Father was clear in your proposal, or else who knows what kind of plans your betrothed may have for you.”
Zuko had heard enough.
“Get out Azula!” he snarled and angrily threw his pillow in her direction, which she dodged easily, a cruel smile on her face.
“Mm so much to dream about, sleep well sweet brother.” And with that she was gone.
Zuko tried to push her words from his mind. Azula. Always. Lies. He repeated it over and over to himself like a mantra but she had a way of injecting her poison into his mind with such deft precision he was incapable of escaping the images conjured from her words that polluted his dreams as he fell into fitful sleep that night.
Zuko tried to focus on the present and shut Azula’s words away as best he could. He wandered absently over to the piano that set back against the windows of the salon. Sunlight streaming in. Slowly he lowered himself down onto the seat.
His Mother has insisted that both he and Azula be thoroughly trained in the arts. Zuko had treasured each lesson. He found poetry fascinating, painting and drawing, while always a challenge, excited him. But most of all, he loved music, because Mother had taught those lessons herself.
Azula never had the patience for music. She would plunk out the notes of her sheet music heavily and without rhythm, treating each line as if it was a race. As soon as she had finished the minimum practice she would launch herself from her seat, desperate to go listen to Father’s business dealings through the walls.
Zuko on the other hand would always linger. Pretending to stumble so Mother would have to take extra time to explain a tricky key change or transition. He knew that she saw through his veiled attempts. They both silently played along, some days allowing the lessons to stretch all afternoon. A small smile flickered across Zuko’s face at the memory. Those afternoons in the sun-filled music room with Mother were the happiest he could ever recall.
He softly laid his hand on the ivory keys, closing his eyes he called to mind his mother’s favorite tune. Just a short composition they had written together one afternoon as the light cast long shadows across the room and a low fire crackled in the fireplace. Safe, warm, happy. His body called out for the ghost-like grasp of fleeting comfort the memory offered.
He let out a short breath and started to play, eyes still shut. The music seems to flow through his very veins and spill out on the keys. He felt his heart lift as he approached the bridge that Mother had always relished playing. Just as he reached the crescendo he heard a cough behind him.
His eyes flew open, hand wrenching back from the keys as if electrocuted. In his rush to stand he sent the bench crashing to the ground. He quietly cursed under his breath as he bent down to right the bench.
“Ah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you,” came the voice from somewhere behind him to his right. The stranger’s voice seemed to carry the gentle lith of a playful smile.
Zuko swallowed and angled his body away from the stranger. If he kept his back to him, at least he could prolong the amount of time until the inevitable awkwardness that would ensue the second the other person glimpsed his face. “It’s fine.” he said gruffly after a beat.
“Here, let me…”
There was the sound of footsteps, and Zuko felt someone else grasp the other side of the bench.
“Shit .” Zuko thought to himself. He internally panicked as he kept his eyes steadfastly glued to the bench while he and the stranger righted it, determined to avert his gaze for as long as humanly possible.
It seemed that time was quickly evaporating as silence descended on the two of them. Propriety was shouting at Zuko to thank the man, whoever he was, for helping him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to lift his face. Who even was this person? And why was he in the salon of all places, unannounced ?
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, but all the pomp and circumstance downstairs just isn’t really for me. Thought I’d go exploring. I couldn’t help but hear your playing. I’m Sokka by the way.”
Zuko had been nodding along, slowly piecing together what the stranger was saying, right until the last sentence threw his mind hurdling off a cliff. Sokka . As in the son of the Water Tribe leader he was supposed to marry.
The realization that his betrothed was about to see his face sent his panic into overdrive. Had Father mentioned his disfigurement? What if his betrothed was so repulsed by his appearance that he demanded the engagement be called off? It would just be one more failure to hang like a millstone around his neck.
Zuko slowly realized that Sokka was staring at him, or at least the top of his head, curiously awaiting his response.
“Might as well, it's not like I can delay the inevitable any longer. ”
Silently Zuko steeled himself. He mentally prepared for the inevitable look of disgust to cross Sokka’s face. The horrified expression everyone had when they beheld his scar for the first time, only for them to quickly look away. Typically the person would try to conceal their repulsion, but it was painfully obvious to Zuko when they would continue on their conversation, eyes fixed squarely on his chest or right ear.
He slowly looked up. “I’m Zuko,” he replied hesitantly.
He waited, but the anticipated reaction never came. Sokka met his gaze steadily. He didn’t even blink at Zuko’s appearance, instead his smile only seemed to grow until it lit up his entire face.
“Zuko, huh? Well then, I’m even more glad that I wandered into this room.” His smile was blinding. White straight teeth contrasted against his dark smooth skin.
Hyper-sensitive of what it was like to have someone stare, Zuko tried to maintain eye contact but he couldn’t help letting his gaze sweep over the man in front of him. He had never seen someone like him before.
His skin was deep and rich, it shone like the dark polished amber Uncle Iroh had once brought back from the Outer Fire Islands. His hair was closely cropped on the sides, but the middle was long, and elegantly tied back in a long wolf’s tail. There seemed to be beads and tiny shells weaved throughout his dark shiny braided locks.
Clearly the style of clothing had evolved since the encyclopedia's illustrations. He wore familiar blue tones from the book, but they were styled much more like the proper Fire Nation clothes, however, they were adorned with intricate beading and delicate patterns that resembled the night sky. Zuko suddenly wondered if he had adapted his dress for this specific visit or if this is what he wore all the time.
Zuko looked closer, and he could just make out the dark markings of the edge of a tattoo peeking up above the ruff of Sokka’s collar.
Before Zuko could think of what to say next, Sokka was stepping around him, he seemed to be taking in the different objects on display in the salon with child-like curiosity. He walked up to the large globe in the corner and gave it a gentle spin.
“The weather here is different than I expected. Gotta say I think I could get used to seeing actual greenery as opposed to just endless snowfields. Don’t get my wrong they’re beautiful, it’s just different. Before this trip I’d only ever been to some of the outlying islands.”
Sokka continued to talk, his words coming fast and easy, as he walked around the room picking up different artifacts and setting them down with interest. He commentary came with the uninhibited ease of someone chatting with an old friend as opposed to your heretofore unknown betrothed.
Zuko didn’t know what to make of him as he watched Sokka continue his exploration of the room with puzzled interest. Belatedly, Zuko realized that Sokka had asked him something, he was so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard.
“What was that?” Zuko asked, desperately trying to pull his mind into focus.
“I said, do you play any other instruments?” Sokka skimmed his fingers over the piano keys. His eyes were bright with genuine interest as they pinned Zuko in place.
“Um, yes…” Zuko’s mind was still trying to process that the person in front of him was going to be his husband.
“I also play the zither and erhu, but piano is my favorite. Do you play anything?” he asked, trying to mirror Sokka’s laid back demeanor. The hitch in his voice betrayed his lingering anxiety.
Sokka gave a small huff of laugh and grimaced slightly. “Uh, no, not really. My music teacher thought I was too...enthusiastic . Personally I thought she lacked imagination.” He grinned mischievously at Zuko. “I can dance though!” The triumph in his voice was evident.
“Oh, um,” Zuko stuttered. He was still struggling to keep up with Sokka’s mood as he vacillated between slyly playful and genuine.
Before he knew what was happening Sokka was in front of him. He held out his hand to Zuko, which, mostly operating on auto-pilot, Zuko took. Sokka twirled him with a flourish, then drew him close.
“I took the liberty of learning some traditional Fire Nation dances, but I could use some practice with a native. I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of festivities to expect when we arrived.”
Sokka started to lead them in a traditional fire nation waltz, Zuko couldn’t help but follow along. There was something so disarmingly familiar about Sokka. It was almost as if he carried with him his own kind of gravity that Zuko couldn’t help but get caught in.
It caught Zuko off-guard and he felt wrong footed. This wasn’t how he had imagined his meeting going at all. Just as he felt himself start to relax, a tiny bud of hope swelling up in his chest, a familiar voice punctured his mood.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here Zuzu? Isn’t it a bit early to be getting that familiar? And unchaperoned no less. What would Father say?” Azula leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes flashing dangerously.
Before Zuko could make any type of response Sokka was striding over to where Azula stood.
“You must be Zuko’s sister, I’m Sokka. You know, I have a sister about your age. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Sokka offered a blinding grin and a perfectly choreographed bow, holding out his hand to Azula.
Azula surveyed Sokka, eyes quickly flicking over his appearance with a calculated glance before placing her hand in his.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” she said haughtily before dropping his hand and turning to Zuko. “I’ve been sent to collect you for the formal presentation to the Water Tribe delegation. Come along then Zuzu, I’m sure they are eager to see if you meet their specifications,” she finished with a wicked grin.
Sokka threw Zuko a confused glance.
“Ignore her,” he said quietly as he made his way around Sokka to join Azula at the door. “But it probably would be best if you found your way back.”
Sokka gave him a small smile and dipped his head before slipping out the door and back down the hall.
As soon as he was out of sight Azula grabbed Zuko’s wrist, painfully digging her nails into his flesh.
“Zuko,” she hissed, voice low and threatening. “You know you were supposed to wait until I came to retrieve you. The whole point was to get the Water Tribe delegation to sign on to Father’s trade agreement before they saw you, so they couldn’t renege on the deal when they realized…” Azula let the sentence trail off, eyes darting over Zuko’s scar in disdain, clearly conveying the contour of her statement with her expression.
“What if Sokka goes and demands reconsideration now?” she continued. “Father will be furious, you’ve jeopardized the whole agreement!”
“He didn’t seem to mind,” Zuko said simply as he jerked his arm away from Azula's death grip and began walking down the hall.
Azula rolled her eyes and trailed after him. “Right, I’m sure.”
His initial brush with Sokka was enough to keep his mind off whatever petty insults Azula continued to hurl his way as they made it down to the formal sitting room. The small flame of curiosity he had felt this morning had now grown, crowding out all the other competing emotions.